


Meeting Aunt May

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Comfort, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Gen, Hospitals, POV Wade Wilson, Short & Sweet, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Talking, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Spideypool Bingo Prompt: [Meeting Aunt May.] Wade visits Peter in the hospital but there's already a visitor there. May Parker is every bit as stubborn and perceptive as her nephew. Wade can't help but love her almost as much as he loves his spider.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813951
Comments: 8
Kudos: 170





	Meeting Aunt May

**Author's Note:**

> I prefer May Parker as an old lady (the Tobey Maguire movies) but you can imagine any Deadpool or Spidey for this fic.

The receptionist was a bored, middle-aged woman. When Wade raced up to her desk, drawing to an abrupt like Woody Fucking Woodpecker, she glared up at him as if he’d just barfed on her computer.

“My friend—” Wade panted. “—accident—Peter Parker—where? _Please,_ ”

The bitch sighed as if Wade was asking for something unreasonable. He wanted to snag a handful of her mousey, thinning hair and slam her face into the monitor. She tapped a few times at her keyboard and then reeled off the ward name. Wade dashed away.

 _I’m coming, Spidey._ He was running through an endless warren of hallways, the weird, tacky floor feeling sticky under his boots, passing doctors, nurses, visitors and the sickly patients. He was attracting stares, perhaps they thought he’d escaped from the burn ward?

When he reached the ward, his breath seemed to rush up his throat, escaping his mouth in a gasp. He didn’t know much about Peter’s spider instincts, but he knew they pulled him from danger, an internal warning system that tingled along his nerve-endings. Wade felt like that right now. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to locate the boy, just to see his face, to make sure he was alright. The boxes were yelling, reverberating in the halls of his skull, edged with mania. They loved Peter too.

A bomb. There was a bomb in the fucking subway and poor Peter was caught in the blast. Peter. Not Spider-Man. He could picture the boy, in his faded jeans and scuffed sneakers, his body tossed around the metal box, rolling around like wet clothes in a washing machine. He shouldn’t freak himself out like this. There were more casualties and some fatalities. And if anybody could make it through a terrorist attack with barely a scratch on them, it was Spider-Man.

* * *

**[THERE HE IS! LOOK]**

_**(Where? Spideeeey!)** _

“There,” Wade told them. In the bed at the end.

There were no empty beds in the ward. More casualties, he supposed. Some beds had the curtains drawn, some had doctors or nurses grouped around, buzzing like honeybees with clipboards and sympathetic faces.

But Peter was on his own.

“He’s alone,” Wade muttered, and he blinked rapidly, feeling the telltale hot itch in the corners of his eyes. “Why’s he on his own?”  


_**(Go to him.)** _

He’d seen him unmasked before, hadn’t been surprised that Spider-Man was beautiful because of course, he would be. But the vital, shining eyes were closed now. Heavy, pink lids hid the chocolate brown gaze. Those mischievous eyes had no right to hide from him. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, just so Peter would sit up and look at him. Peter was tucked in like a kid, the blanket pulled up to his chest. One hand rested on the blanket, as pale and still as a dying butterfly, too tired to flutter away from him. Wade’s fingers twitched, itched to touch his hand. Rub the scarred pad of his thumb along the pale blue veins just to feel them pulse with life. Feel the heat and know he’s alive. Peter’s hair was ungelled, looked soft to the touch, his bangs flopping on his face. They partially hid a bandage stuck to the side of his cheek, and that was good, Wade could pretend that he wasn’t injured at all. Maybe, he was merely napping. Maybe, he’d open his eyes at any minute and ask Wade if he could smuggle in his Nintendo Switch for him.

Somebody cleared their throat, right behind him.

* * *

Wade whirled around, but it wasn’t some shadowy baddie, a trigger-happy mutant to tear him away from Spidey. It was an elderly woman, petite, with sad, gentle eyes and white cotton-wool hair pulled back in a knot behind her head. She was the quintessential grandma, the one who’d pull you into a hug when you were teary, offer you candy and kind words. He knew who she was.

“You’re May, right? May Parker?” he said and her eyebrows rose. She didn’t look troubled by the strange, scarred man standing by her beloved nephew. But if Peter was any indication, the Parkers were scarily brave. He liked her already.

“Yes. Why don’t you take a seat? You look dead on your feet.”

To Wade’s surprise, she placed a hand on his arm and he let himself be guided to the chair by Peter’s bed. She perched on the end of the bed and appraised him with two sparkling eyes.

“So, you came to visit my nephew?”

Wade nodded absently, trying to block out the boxes so he could focus on her voice. Hospitals are such busy places, it felt like being in a rabbit warren, full of twisting bodies and winding tunnels. It itched at his skin and blinked in his peripheral vision and he hated it. The noise, the movement, the thrumming and clicking of hospital equipment.

“Peter is…he’s my friend. I heard about the bomb on the news and I knew he was taking the subway today so I…I texted him but he didn’t reply. I thought he was…I thought he might not have m-made it…but then I thought I should check the hospital.”

“When they called me, I felt so afraid,” May admitted. “I couldn’t get here fast enough. It felt like I was running through quicksand,” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Don’t ever get old.”

“I’ll try not to,” Wade said sheepishly.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh, Wade. Wade Wilson,” Wade told her and they awkwardly shook hands over Peter’s body. “What did the — has the doctor been by?”

“They said he took a fall. He was trying to protect the other people, he was trying to get everybody away from the bomb…” she said and her voice dropped to a whisper. Wade had to lean forward on the creaky chair just to hear her amidst the machines. “Why was he doing that? Why was he trying to be a hero? He’s so young.”

“That’s what he does. He tries to help people.” Wade said, shrugging uselessly. He was shit at this, the comforting thing. He’d never been good at it, even before his face became a freakshow.

May looked up at him and tears were shining in her eyes. “Has he ever tried to help you?”

“Ha. All the time. I’m a fuck-up. Sorry, probably shouldn’t swear. He tells me he sees good in me. He thinks I can be better. I dunno about that…”

“It’s a choice. Being good, being bad. There’s good and bad in all of us.”

Wade shook his head. “There’s no bad in you, I can tell. Or him.”

“There is. But I make the choice to do the right thing, even if it inconveniences me. I tried to raise him well, but he makes his own choices now. He’s grown up so fast. I suppose he had to. My…my husband died a few years ago. I think sometimes that Peter blames himself, although there’s no reason for him to do that. It was a matter of the wrong place, the wrong time.”

“Ben,” Wade said. “Peter told me a bit about him. He sounded like a great guy.”

“He was. Peter’s very like him. In a way, Ben lives on, through Peter. The doctors said Peter most likely has a concussion but they said he’ll be alright. They told me he’s very resilient but I knew that already. My little fighter,” She smiled suddenly and it was a beautiful, gentle thread among many, interlocking wrinkles. “Has he been a good friend to you?”

“The best. I’ve had friends but not like him, you know?”

“He’s special,” And then: “He talks about you a lot.”

“He…does?”

“Yes. Wade said this, Wade said that. He tells me your jokes, you’re a very funny man!”

“My jokes?”

**[Oh God, we’re doomed.]**

_**(Does she know about the Deadpool thing?)** _

“I know you’ve been through a lot, Wade. Peter didn’t tell me everything, he respects your privacy but he told me you had some health scares. I hope that he’s been good to you. He thinks the world of you.”

“He’s amazing,” Wade blurted out and she nodded. “He’s kind and sweet and brave and he _gets me,_ you know? Not a lot of people do.”

Her old, owlish eyes stared into his. “Do you allow people to know you?”

“I don’t know, maybe? No. Not really. I don’t know. Mrs Parker, it’s hard sometimes,”

“I know, darling,” she said and that was all she said as she eased herself off the bed, the bones in her knees clicking, and then her arms were around Wade’s shoulders. Warm, bony arms that made him think of some fragile little bird, and she smelt of perfume, some floral old lady scent and was so warm and soft that Wade buried his face in her neck, blocked out the harsh light and the whirring machines and even the boxes themselves were muffled by her embrace, as she held him. All the fear and screeching animal-panic drained out of him, adrenaline and caffeine and all this false strength leaked out of his pores and he felt weak, like a sponge that’s been wrung dry. Peter was okay, he could stop freaking out, he was _fine_ and he had May Parker to watch over him. His spider was safe. She swayed a little on her feet, rocking his head, as he clung to her, and he realised the warmth of his face was due to hot tears streaking down his cheeks.

He had no idea of how much time had passed, but at some point, he felt strong enough to release her, to let her step back, smiling at him. Some dormant gentlemanly instinct reared its head and he sprang up from his seat and insisted she take it. He didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, holding him, and the poor lady must be tired. She sat down and pulled Wade to her, her grip surprisingly strong and he sank to his knees by the chair, looking up at her through watery eyes.

“You’re one of us, Wade. You’re a Parker, now, you hear me?” she said firmly and Wade nodded.

They stayed until visiting hours were over.


End file.
